Convoy SC 7 – Uboat.net’s account on the
battle. Note that info for each ship lost or damaged in this convoy can be
found by entering the names in the Allied
ships hit by U-boats search section.
By mid-October 1940 even Hitler had come to accept that the
time for a successful invasion of the British Isles was past. To a visiting
Italian Minister he said: ‘If I cannot invade them, at least I can destroy the
whole of their industry’. He was referring to the continuing raids on British
cities by bombers of the Luftwaffe, which on the night of 15 October reached a
ferocious crescendo with an attack on London lasting nine hours. In this, the
most intense bombing raid of the war thus far, thousands of high-explosive and
incendiary bombs rained down, laying waste a vast area of the densely populated
city. More than 400 Londoners died in the raid, bringing the total killed in
Britain by German bombs, in that one week alone, to 1,567. There was no evident
crumbling of morale in the cities, but it was felt that, if the raids continued
to exact such a fearful toll, cracks would soon begin to appear. To some extent
the RAF was returning the bombs, but always striving to hit only specified
military targets. If bad weather or other causes made it impossible to bomb
accurately, pilots were ordered to jettison their bombs over the sea. After the
October raids on London the RAF was given leave to use its bombs with less
discrimination, targeting cities rather than specific installations. The war in
the air was moving into a new and more barbaric phase.
At sea it had been that way for some time. Although the
threat of invasion had receded, releasing more destroyers for convoy escort
duty, there seemed to be no answer to the savage assaults of Dönitz’s ‘wolf
packs’. The German admiral’s stated ambition that not one day should pass
without the sinking somewhere or other of a ship by one of the boats at sea’
had been more than realised. On average, 55 Allied merchant ships, totalling
nearly 280,000 tons gross, were being sunk by the U-boats every month, the
majority of them in the Atlantic. But every achievement has its price. In the
case of the U-boat men it was a high one, up to three boats being lost each
month out of the 27 or so that were operational. As the Allied convoys became
better organised and the expertise of the growing number of escort vessels
improved, these losses would inevitably mount.
When Karl Dönitz took command of the U-boat arm, Hitler
promised that the German shipyards would turn out about twenty new boats every
month, but his promise was not being kept. Demands on Germany’s resources by
the Wehrmacht and the Luftwaffe, on which Hitler now based his hopes for
victory, were so great that new U-boats were being launched at the rate of only
six a month; barely enough to keep pace with the rising losses. While the lost
submarines could be replaced, their highly-trained and experienced crews could
not. It was rare for any survivors of a sunken boat to return to Germany. This
led Dönitz to push his men to their utmost limits, curtailing desperately
needed rest periods and slashing the time that boats spent in port after each
patrol. Inevitably, this resulted in a discernable lowering of morale in the
service.
There is a long-held superstition among seamen, probably
associated with the Crucifixion, that to leave port on a Friday is to tempt
providence. To sail on Friday the 13th is an open invitation to disaster. So
reasoned the crew of U99 when she was ordered to leave Lorient on her fourth
Atlantic patrol on Friday 13 October 1940. Although U99 was a new boat, less
than a year old, she developed a mysterious engine fault that held her in port
until after midnight that night. She finally sailed at 0130 on the 14th. In
command was Kapitänleutnant Otto Kretschmer, at 28 years old already one of
Dönitz’s top aces, with 23 ships of almost 100,000 tons to his credit.
The first 48 hours of U99’s outward passage across the
Western Approaches to the British Isles were uneventful, except for two
occasions when patrolling enemy aircraft forced her to dive. Then, on the
afternoon of the 16th, when she was 320 miles west of Ireland, a signal was
picked up from U93 (Kapitänleutnant Klaus Korth), reporting the sighting of a large
Allied convoy. Anticipating orders, Kretschmer altered course to intercept the
convoy and increased to full speed.
In Lorient, Admiral Dönitz acted on the signalled sighting
immediately, ordering Korth to continue shadowing and report at regular intervals
while a wolf pack was assembled. Within reasonable range of the convoy were
U100 (Kapitänleutnant Joachim Schepke), U123 (Kapitänleutnant Karl-Heinz
Moehle), U101 (Kapitänleutnant Fritz Frauenheim), U46 (Kapitänleutnant
Engelbert Endrass), U48 (Kapitänleutnant Heinrich Bleichrodt) and Kretschmer’s
U99. As Kretschmer had foreseen, Dönitz’s radioed instructions to these vessels
were for them to close on the Allied convoy at all speed. As the day wore on,
the reports from U93 became less frequent and finally ceased altogether,
indicating to Dönitz that she had lost contact with the enemy. He then ordered
the gathering pack to set up a line of ambush ahead of, and across the track of
the convoy, all boats to be in position by 2000 on the 18th. Kretschmer called
for more speed, for he feared U99 might arrive too late to join in the attack.
Convoy SC 7, consisting of 35 ships, fourteen British, six
Norwegian, four Greek, three Canadian, three Swedish, two Dutch, one French,
one Panamanian and one Danish, left the Canadian port of Sydney, Cape Breton,
at noon on 5 October. It was a slow convoy with a designated speed of 8 knots,
and would break no records on its Atlantic crossing. In fact, many of the old
and sometimes pitifully small ships had never achieved such a speed. Certainly
the two Cardiff tramps Beatus and Fiscus, sister ships staggering under great
loads of timber and steel, would be hard pushed to keep up. The same could be
said for the two Greek vessels Niritos and Aenos, built in 1907 and 1910 respectively,
whose ancient engines functioned only by faith and a great deal of innovation.
As for the tiny Great Lakes steamers Eaglescliffe Hall, Winona and Trevisa,
also of a great age, it seemed to be the height of folly that they should
challenge this turbulent Western Ocean at all. But perhaps the most revealing
indication of the pressing needs of Britain in these dark days was the
inclusion in SC 7 of the Norwegian steamer Snefield. At 1,643 tons gross, this
39-year-old ship, her decks piled so high with timber that only her masts and
funnels were visible, presented a ludicrous sight as she struggled valiantly to
keep pace with her larger sisters.
Recalled from retirement and charged with the unenviable
task of holding this ragged fleet of merchantmen together for the 2,500-mile
transatlantic voyage was Vice-Admiral Lachlan Mackinnon, RN. Mackinnon was a
man of great experience in the fighting ships, but he had only a limited
understanding of the shortcomings and eccentricities of the run-of-the-mill
ocean tramp. His talents were to be sorely tested over the coming weeks.
The ship in which Mackinnon flew his flag, as commodore of
the convoy, was the 2,962-ton, twin-screw steamer Assyrian, owned by the
Ellerman & Papayanni Line of Liverpool and commanded by 35-year-old Captain
R. S. Kearon. Launched at the beginning of the First World War, the Assyrian
was a long way from her habitual cruising waters. In the balmy days between the
wars she carried general cargoes from Liverpool, Glasgow and south Wales to Spain,
Portugal and Mediterranean ports, returning with the produce of these
sun-kissed shores. She had accommodation for twelve passengers, and at £1 a day
for the 40-day round voyage, the Assyrian had been a popular ship with those
seeking a long, lazy holiday.
On her current voyage the Assyrian’s adequate but not
luxurious passenger cabins were occupied by Vice-Admiral Mackinnon, his staff
of five signallers and three civilian passengers, making, with her crew of 39,
a total complement on board of 48. In her holds were 3,700 tons of food and war
supplies loaded in the USA for Liverpool. Her armament consisted of one ancient
4in gun, mounted on her poop deck and manned by a crew drawn from the ship’s
company, untrained, but nonetheless determined.
The weather was fine and clear, and the sea unusually calm
when, ship by ship, Convoy SC 7 cleared Sydney harbour and felt the lift of the
long Atlantic swell. An hour of somewhat untidy manoeuvring followed, but
finally the ships were formed up in nine columns abreast and set off to cross
the ocean, the Assyrian leading at the head of column five. Mackinnon had
wisely adjusted the convoy speed to 7 knots; even so it was obvious from the
amount of black smoke issuing from some funnels that there were those who would
be hard pressed to keep up. The Winona, in fact, turned back on the first
night, when a fault developed in her generator.
The defence of SC 7, apart from the few ill-manned,
stern-mounted guns of the merchantmen, was in the hands of the sloop HMS
Scarborough and the Canadian armed yacht Elk. The 1,050-ton Scarborough
(Commander N. V. Dickinson) was an ex-survey vessel converted for escort
duties, armed with two 4in guns and having a top speed of only 14 knots. HMCS
Elk, as would be expected of a commandeered yacht, was of even lighter calibre.
If SC 7 was to reach British waters intact, it would need more than good luck
on its side.
Mackinnon was authorised to vary the convoy’s course
according to prevailing circumstances, but the Admiralty had advised him to
steer to the north-east until about 250 miles south of Iceland, before altering
down for the North Channel. It was hoped that this northerly route would keep
the convoy away from patrolling U-boats until the ocean escort was reinforced
by ships of Western Approaches Command. Unknown to Mackinnon and the Admiralty,
this was a forlorn hope. Admiral Dönitz, through the B-Dienst, the German naval
intelligence service, was already aware of the movements of SC 7.
On 28 June 1940 the 7,506-ton British cargo liner City of
Baghdad, under the command of Captain Armstrong White, sailed from Lourenço
Marques, Mozambique, bound for Penang, Malaya. German agents in the Portuguese
port notified Berlin of her sailing. Thirteen days later, when City of Baghdad
was 450 miles off the western coast of Sumatra and nearing the equator, she
fell in with the German armed merchant cruiser Atlantis, commanded by
Kapitän-zur-See Bernhard Rogge. The British ship attempted to escape, but was
pounded to a standstill by Rogge’s guns. Two of City of Baghdad’s crew already
lay dead and another was seriously injured, and to avoid further casualties
Captain White surrendered. Unfortunately, White omitted to dump his
lead-weighted code books overboard before handing over his ship. Within a week
or two the entire contents of the Broadcasting for Allied Merchant Ships (BAMS)
code was in the hands of the B-Dienst. The Admiralty remained ignorant of this
catastrophic loss for many months. Meanwhile, B-Dienst was busy reading its
signals to the convoys and passing them on to Dönitz within a day or so of
transmission.
So Dönitz, alerted by radio intelligence, was aware of the sailing
of SC 7 from Cape Breton; he also knew the convoy’s projected course and speed.
This did not bode well for the ships under Vice-Admiral Mackinnon’s command,
but, ignorant of their betrayal, they sailed on.
Some 48 hours out of Sydney, when clear of Newfoundland,
HMCS Elk reached the limit of her fuel tanks and, signalling her goodbyes by
lamp, turned back for home. With its lone escort, the 1,000-ton sloop
Scarborough, putting on a brave face as she scouted ahead, SC 7 carried on into
the open Atlantic. The weather held fine and clear, which was a mixed blessing,
for the billows of black smoke pouring from the tall funnels of the labouring
tramps climbed high in the sky, and must have been visible for many miles.
But the ocean would not remain quiescent for much longer.
Off Cape Hatteras warm air was rising to form an area of low pressure which
would expand and deepen as it tracked north-eastwards around the perimeter of
the Azores High. By the morning of the 11th, when SC 7 was 300 miles south of Greenland’s
Cape Farewell, a full gale was blowing from the north-west. Steaming beam-on to
a heavy swell and rough, breaking seas, many of the smaller ships were soon in
difficulty. The two remaining Great Lakes steamers, Trevisa and Eaglescliffe
Hall, neither of which had ever experienced such unbridled wrath from the
elements, gave up the struggle early on and dropped astern, soon to be lost to
sight. Bigger ships began to go as the day wore on and the weather worsened.
Two Greeks, the 3,554-ton Aenos and the 5,875-ton Thalia, their old and poorly
maintained engines strained beyond all endurance by the violent rolling and
pitching, suffered breakdowns and fell back, wallowing helplessly in the swell.
There was no spare escort vessel to stand by these stragglers, and from then on
they would have to see to their own defence.
For the next four days the gale blew without let-up, but SC
7, its ranks thinned and ragged, continued to fight its way north-eastwards,
the gallant little Scarborough zig-zagging ahead in a welter of foam as she
rolled her bulwark rails under. Then, on the afternoon of the 15th, the
barometer began to rise and the wind eased, allowing the battered ships to
re-form and, where possible, repair the damage meted out by the storm. SC 7 was
now less than 24 hours, steaming from the rendezvous point at which she would
expect to meet her local escort heading out from the North Channel. It was too
early to say the race had been won, but an unmistakeable mood of optimism
hovered over the convoy.
Then, just before 0100 in the dark of the morning of 16
October, Kapitänleutnant Wilhelm Schulz, patrolling in U124, sighted the
Trevisa straggling some 20 miles astern of SC 7. Wireless operators on watch in
the convoy listened helplessly to the pitiful distress calls of the little
Canadian steamer as she went down. The wolves were at hand.
There followed a harrowing twelve hours, with every ship in
the convoy on full alert, with guns manned and extra lookouts posted. A great
weight was lifted from Commander Dickinson’s shoulders when at last, just
before dusk, Scarborough was joined by the sloop HMS Fowey and the corvette HMS
Bluebell, the first ships of the local escort to arrive. Between them, the
three small warships, however comforting their presence was to the merchantmen,
were only a token show of force. None of them had worked together before,
ship-to-ship radio communication was poor, and they had no preconceived plan of
action in case of attack. However, Dickinson, now Senior Officer Escort (SOE),
disposed his forces as best he could, with Scarborough on the port bow, Fowey
on the starboard bow and Bluebell astern of the convoy.
As SC 7 braced itself to meet the dangers of the night, the
atmosphere on the bridge of the Commodore’s ship, Assyrian, was electric.
Vice-Admiral Mackinnon and Captain Kearon stood side by side, both acutely
aware that, if an attack was to be made on the convoy, it must come soon. Many
times during the crossing they had roundly cursed the foul Atlantic weather;
now, with the wind only a gentle breeze, the sea calm, and a bright moon
breaking through the clouds from time to time, they fervently wished they could
turn back the clock. For the U-boats conditions could not have been better.
The net Dönitz had strung across the path of SC 7 served its
purpose well, and just before midnight on the 16/17th, Heinrich Bleichrodt in
U48 sighted the convoy 250 miles south of Iceland. He reported his find to
Lorient, and then, with U48 trimmed down, took up station astern of the convoy.
Admiral Dönitz’s orders were not open to interpretation; Bleichrodt’s duty was
to shadow and report, attacking only when joined by the rest of the pack.
The sight of this great fleet of heavily-laden and highly
vulnerable ships crawling eastwards across the moonlit sea would have taxed the
resolve of the most resolute U-boat man. For Bleichrodt the temptation to
attack was overwhelming. Following his limited success against HX 72, he had
then been involved in an attack on HX 77, sinking another three ships and bringing
his score for the current patrol to eleven ships, totalling over 58,000 tons.
Now just four torpedoes remained and, when they were gone, the probability was
that U48 would be free to go home. Bleichrodt curbed his impatience for almost
three hours, then, with dawn less than an hour away with no sign of the other
boats, he decided to act alone. Keeping a wary eye on the enemy corvette
zig-zagging in the wake of the rear ships of the convoy, he moved in,
penetrating the ranks of the merchantmen with ease.
The 9,512-ton French tanker Languedoc, sailing under the Red
Ensign and her distinctive silhouette clear in the light of the moon, exploded
in a sheet of flame when Bleichrodt’s torpedo struck. Seconds later the
North-East Coast tramp Scoresby, SC 7’s Vice-Commodore ship, staggered as she
was hit amidships, and began to sink. Bleichrodt’s third torpedo hit the
4,678-ton Haspendon, which developed a heavy list but remained afloat.
The simultaneous attack on three ships at once appeared to
leave the convoy stunned, and several minutes elapsed before the first rocket
soared into the sky. This was followed by a flurry of other rockets and flares
fired by the startled merchantmen. The escorts joined in the illuminations with
starshell fired at random, and night was turned into day, but no one really
knew from which quarter the attack had come, for U48 had already dived. In the
midst of the ensuing panic, Vice-Admiral Mackinnon ordered a 45° emergency turn
to starboard, which caused further confusion and allowed Bleichrodt to slip
clear of the convoy. But he was not to get clean away. The corvette Bluebell
was fully occupied, having dropped back to pick up survivors from the torpedoed
ships, but Scarborough came racing back with her asdics pinging.
Bleichrodt twisted and turned to avoid the probing asdic
beam, then came back to the surface and made off into the dark at full speed,
and at 17½ knots she soon shook off the 14 knots British sloop. Now should have
been the time for Scarborough to return to the convoy, but Commander Dickinson
stubbornly persisted in his search for the U-boat, ranging so far afield that
the sloop lost all contact with the convoy and would never rejoin. For a while,
SC 7 was defended only by HMS Fowey, Bluebell being still engaged in the search
for survivors.
When daylight came, U48 was out of sight of the convoy, and
had altered course to make contact again, when a Sunderland of RAF Coastal
Command came roaring out of the sun. Bleichrodt made a record-breaking crash
dive, but the Sunderland’s depth charges exploded all around the boat as she
went down. The lights failed, gauge glasses shattered, and water spurted
through strained hatch seals. Bleichrodt went deep and stayed there until the
danger from the air was past. Although U48 was unable to regain contact with SC
7, 24 hours later Bleichrodt put his last remaining torpedo to good use,
sinking the 3,612-ton British steamer Sandsend, a straggler from a west-bound
convoy.
By sunrise on the 17th Mackinnon had succeeded in restoring
order within the depleted ranks of SC 7, and was delighted when, at 0700, the
sloop HMS Leith hove in sight, closely followed by the corvette Heartsease.
Commander Roland Allen in Leith then took over as SOE. The appearance of
Sunderlands overhead became more frequent, and the odds on SC 7 surviving
appeared to be shortening. Then the unseen enemy struck again. From 60 miles
ahead was heard the frantic SOS calls of the Aenos, torpedoed by U38
(Kapitänleutnant Heinrich Liebe). Having fallen out of the convoy on the 11th,
the Greek ship had made a lone dash for the UK, only to run into the arms of
Liebe, who was patrolling to the north of Rockall.
Throughout the day the weather continued to improve and the
convoy made good speed. During the afternoon, being ahead of the schedule
advised to the Admiralty, Mackinnon ordered an alteration of course to the
northward to lose some time. As no U-boat was then shadowing the convoy, this
was a diversion which, but for a cruel twist of fate, might have saved SC 7.
When darkness fell there remained just 220 miles to cover to
the shelter of the North Channel, but with only scattered cloud and the moon
near full, the slow-moving ships were dangerously exposed. Allen had placed his
meagre force, two sloops and two corvettes, to best advantage, ahead, astern
and on the wings of the convoy. Asdics pinged monotonously and lookouts scanned
the horizon; it promised to be a long night.
On receipt of the report of the sinking of the Aenos by U38,
Dönitz, who by now was concerned at the lack of reports from Bleichrodt,
ordered Liebe to search westwards. Basing his calculations on the position and
course of Aenos, Liebe reversed his own course and proceeded cautiously with
extra lookouts posted. His patience was rewarded when he sighted SC 7 late that
night. The convoy was on course to pass well to the north of the ambush set up
by Lorient.
Shortly after 0100 on the 18th, Liebe slipped easily past
the thin defensive screen of SC 7 and torpedoed the 3,670-ton Glasgow ship
Carsbreck. The attack was not fully successful, for the Carsbreck did not sink,
but retaliation was swift and Liebe was forced to retire before inflicting more
damage. However, his attack succeeded in weakening SC 7’s escort even further.
The corvette Bluebell, already carrying more than 100 survivors from other
ships, was ordered by Allen to stand by the Carsbreck, and so once again ceased
to play a significant part in the protection of SC 7.
When he received Liebe’s sighting report, Dönitz at once
realised that his boats were too far to the south and radioed them to regroup,
forming a line across the convoy’s track by 0700 on the 18th. His signal was
answered by U100, U28, U123, U101, U46 and U99. U99 was then some 100 miles to
the south-west of the new patrol line position. Kretschmer put on all speed,
but was not in position until 1030. There he established contact with U46 and
U101; other boats were nearby.
Half an hour later Liebe reported in again. From the
position he gave it was obvious that the convoy had once more altered course,
and would pass even further to the north. At 1430 Dönitz abandoned his ambush
line and ordered all boats to home in on U38, attacking independently when in
contact.
With just over an hour to go to sunset, Kretschmer again
sighted U101 and exchanged signals with Fritz Frauenheim by lamp. A few minutes
later Frauenheim signalled ‘Enemy in sight to port’. Kretschmer swept the
horizon with his binoculars and sighted a lone warship on an easterly course.
Minutes later the masts and funnels of a large convoy were seen. He altered
course to intercept after dark.
Dusk was closing in when SC 7, then 25 miles north-east of
the tiny island of Rockall, received orders from the Admiralty to head directly
for the North Channel. Mackinnon brought the ships round on to a course of
130°, commencing the final leg of the long ocean passage. The weather remained
dangerously fair, with a gentle breeze from the south-east, a slight sea and
broken cloud. The moon would soon be up. The sloop Fowey (Lieutenant-Commander
Robert Aubrey) was ordered to take up station five miles astern of the convoy
to search for shadowing U-boats. No doubt Commander Allen’s intentions were in
the best interests of SC 7, but in detaching Fowey he seriously weakened his
arm.
Kretschmer was now shadowing a ship which for some reason
was romping ahead of the convoy. She was the 5,458-ton British steamer
Shekatika, loaded with timber. At 1828 Kretschmer submerged to attack, and in
doing so allowed the ship to draw ahead. He resurfaced and gave chase, only to
find that Moehle’s U123 was already attacking. Her torpedo caught the
unsuspecting Shekatika squarely amidships but, buoyed up by her timber cargo,
she did not sink.
The attack on the Shekatika was the signal for the wolves to
close in, and a few minutes later Engelbert Endrass, in U46, fired a spread of
three. The first torpedo missed, but the second and third sank the British ship
Beatus and the 1,996-ton Swede Convallaria, the first and second ships in the
port outer column. This sudden onslaught sent Leith, Bluebell and Heartsease
racing in all directions, hurling depth charges and illuminating the already
moonlit night with starshell, but to no good effect. Not surprisingly, Allen
had no clear idea of the whereabouts of the enemy, but he felt obliged to take
some action, however ineffectual. The presence of the other sloop would have
been of some help, but Fowey was still five miles astern. As soon as he saw the
starshell bursting, Lieutenant-Commander Aubrey attempted to make radio contact
with Leith, but failed. He then called for full speed, but at 14 knots Fowey
would take a full hour to rejoin SC 7. It is said that one man’s misfortune is
another man’s gain, and so it was on this night. As she strained to overtake
the convoy, Fowey found herself assuming the role of rescue ship, picking up
survivors from the Convallaria and Shekatika. This delayed her even further.
Meanwhile, Frauenheim had torpedoed and sunk the 3,971-ton
Creekirk, and Kretschmer, while manoeuvring to attack, had been surprised by
one of the escorts and obliged to run to the south. It would take U99 nearly
two hours to regain contact. She was back in time to join the rest of the pack
in a concerted attack, but whereas the other six boats were content to fire their
torpedoes from a distance, Kretschmer slipped through the escort screen and
approached the starboard outer column of SC 7. As he did so the moon broke
through the clouds, bathing the massed ranks of the merchantmen in a brilliant
yellow light. All the ships were zig-zagging independently, but the leading
ship of the outer column loomed large in Kretschmer’s sights. Using the
director to aim off, he fired one bow torpedo, and to his amazement missed. He
swung the boat round and fired the stern tube. There was a flash, and the
6,055-ton Empire Miniver reared up like a frightened horse. The 22-year-old
ship seemed to fall apart before Kretschmer’s eyes, and in twenty seconds she
was gone. Kretschmer took U99 deeper into the convoy.
On the bridge of Assyrian Captain Kearon witnessed the
sudden end of the Empire Miniver and immediately put his ship through a series
of violent emergency turns before coming back on course and increasing speed.
The night had gone quiet again when he sighted a long, low shadow on the water
200 yards on the port bow. As the moon broke through the clouds again, the
shadow hardened into the silhouette of a Type VIIC U-boat – Kretschmer’s U99.
Kearon’s nerves were bar tight, and without thinking of the consequences he
rang for emergency full speed and turned to ram. But Kretschmer took fast
evasive action, running ahead of the Assyrian and then diving. Kearon gave
chase, for he could plainly see the wake of the U-boat’s periscope.
The Assyrian’s engines were 26 years old, but they gave of
their best, working up to 10 knots, and she began to gain on the periscope.
Then, after about seven minutes, the U-boat resurfaced, now only 400 yards off,
and Kearon caught the waft of exhaust fumes as her diesels roared into life.
From then on there was no contest, the U-boat drawing rapidly away, altering
course to starboard as she went. Kearon followed her round, breaking radio
silence to warn the escorts. Pursuer and pursued, now heading to the west,
raced down the starboard side of the convoy until Kearon, realising the
futility of his action (he had no gun forward) abandoned the chase. He swung
the Assyrian round under full helm, with her stern to the enemy, and fired one
shot from the poop 4in, more as a pointer to the escorts than in the hope of hitting
the U-boat. Kretschmer had escaped again.
Over the next hour, with Fowey still occupied astern picking
up the evergrowing number of survivors, the rest of the wolf pack moved in to
savage SC 7. Endrass sank the small Swedish steamer Gunborg, Frauenheim and
Schepke each put two torpedoes into the Glasgow timber carrier Blairspey but
she stayed stubbornly afloat, and Schepke again torpedoed the abandoned
Shekatika.
Kretschmer, who had regained contact with the convoy, joined
in the fray. An extract from his war diary best illustrates the heat of the
action:
2330 [2130 Convoy Time]: Fire bow torpedo at large
freighter. As the ship turns towards us the torpedo passes ahead of her and
hits an even larger ship after a run of 1,740m. This ship [Niritos, 3,854 tons]
of some 7,000 tons, is hit abreast the foremast and the bow quickly sinks below
the surface as two holds are apparently flooded.
2355 [2155]: Fire a bow torpedo at a large freighter of some
6,000 tons [Fiscus, 4,815 tons], at a range of 750m. Hit abreast foremast.
Immediately after the torpedo explosion there is another explosion with a high
column of flame from the bow to the bridge. The smoke rises to some 200m. Bow
apparently shattered. Ship continues to burn with a green flame.
19 October:
0015 [2215]: Three destroyers approach the ship and search
the area in line abreast. I make off at full speed to the south-west and again
make contact with the convoy. Torpedoes from the other boats are constantly
heard exploding. The destroyers do not know how to help and occupy themselves
by constantly firing starshells, which are of little effect in the bright
moonlight. I now start to attack the convoy from astern.
0138 [2338]: Fire bow torpedoes at large heavily laden
freighter of about 6,000 tons [Empire Brigade, 5,154 tons], range 945m. Hit
abreast foremast. The explosion sinks the ship. This ship broke in two and both
halves sank in a little more than a minute.
0155 [2355]: Fire bow torpedo at the next large vessel of
some 7,000 tons [Thalia, 5,875 tons]. Range 975m. Hit abreast foremast. Ship
sinks within 40 seconds.
0240 [0040]: Miss through aiming error with torpedo fired at
one of the largest vessels in the convoy, a ship of the Glenapp class 9,500
tons.
0255 [0055]: Again miss the same target from a range of
about 800m. No explanation as the fire control data were absolutely correct.
Presume it to be a gyro failure, as we hear an explosion on the other side of
the convoy some seven minutes later.
0302 [0102]: Third attempt at same target from range of
720m. Hit forward of the bridge [Snefield, 1,643 tons]. Bow sinks rapidly level
with the water.
0356 [0156]: Fire and miss at a rather small unladen ship
which had lost contact with the convoy. We had fired just as the ship turned
towards us.
0358 [0158]: Turn off and fire a stern torpedo from a range
of 690m. Hit aft of amidships. Ship drops astern, somewhat lower in the water.
As torpedoes have been expended I wait to see if she will sink further before I
settle her by gunfire.
0504 [0304]: Ship is sunk by another vessel by gunfire. I
suppose it to be a British destroyer, but it later transpires it was U123. Some
of her shells land very close, so I have to leave the area quickly. The ship
was Clintonia, 3,106 tons.
Captain Kearon of the Assyrian saw the massacre from the
wrong end of the torpedo tube:
There was a period of about an hour when we were free from
attack and I had worked up to a position with the Empire Brigade on my port
side. She had moved up and was ahead of her position. There were some other
ships on my starboard quarter. The next thing I saw was a torpedo crossing my
bow and I remarked “There goes my next door neighbour”, which proved to be
correct as the Empire Brigade was struck. A few seconds later, at 2323 on 18
October, in position 57° 12’N, 10° 43’W, 170 miles from land, I saw another
torpedo coming towards us which hit us in the stokehold on the starboard side,
166ft from the bow. There was only one explosion, which was a dull report, the
ship was lifted but no water was thrown up as far as I know; the Chief Engineer
said the water came up through his cabin floor, his room being over the after
end of the engine room, 40-50ft further aft than where we were hit. There was
no flame or smell, but a good deal of smoke. The top sides of the ship on the
starboard side were opened up right to the boat deck, there was quite a large
hole, and the decks were broken so that we could not use the starboard side of
the deck at all. We were actually hit a quarter of a minute before the Empire
Brigade although I saw the track of the torpedo which struck her before ours.
Up to this time, including the ones I have already
mentioned, I had had four torpedoes fired at me, three missed their mark.
Altogether I saw the tracks of six torpedoes, ours being the sixth; one hit the
Empire Miniver and one the Empire Brigade. Of the six torpedoes I think four
came from the port side and two from starboard. In my opinion there must have
been not less than two submarines operating at that time and I think they were
definitely picking their marks. After we were struck a Dutch ship blew up and I
believe another ship ahead of us, and later, when I was in the water, another
three ships, also ahead of me, were torpedoed. I believe seventeen ships were
torpedoed that night, and 21 altogether out of the whole convoy.
When the final reckoning was made, it was found that SC 7
had lost a total of twenty ships of 79,646 tons, while two other ships were
damaged but reached port. Of these, Otto Kretschmer sank seven ships of 30,502
tons, and Heinrich Bleichrodt, Karl-Heinz Moehle, Fritz Frauenheim and
Engelbert Endrass all added another three ships to their scores. The night of
18/19 October 1940 was aptly named by the U-boat men ‘The Night of the Long
Knives’.
Kretschmer, Frauenheim and Moehle, their torpedoes expended,
returned to the Biscay ports and heroes’ welcomes, but Endrass in U46,
Bleichrodt in U48, Schepke in U100 and Liebe in U38 remained on station. They
were joined by Günter Kuhnke in U28, and late on the 19th the fast convoy HX
79, which sailed from Nova Scotia a few days after SC 7, sailed straight into
their arms. HX 79 was comparatively well escorted, having with it two
destroyers, four corvettes, three trawlers and a minesweeper, but, as was only
too common in those early days, the warships lacked experienced crews and had
no co-ordinated plan of defence. The result was another massacre to match that
of SC7. In the space of nine hours on the night of 19/20 October, HX 79 lost
twelve ships totalling another 75,069 tons.
The virtual annihilation by the U-boats of two major convoys
in four days, resulting in the loss of 32 merchant ships of 154,715 tons
without loss to the attackers, was unprecedented in sea warfare. For Admiral
Karl Dönitz it was a complete vindication of his decision to use the U-boats in
packs; for Britain and her allies it was another staggering defeat in the long
catalogue of defeats that was to become known as the Battle of the Atlantic.
